Dementors are born freezing
by The madness in me
Summary: Dementors are born freezing. From the moment they enter the world in some twisted form of infancy they are cold.


Dementors are born freezing.

From the moment they enter the world in some twisted form of infancy they are cold.

The air frigid on their breath, cutting sharp through their lungs.

Their skin bitter and blistered by ice that never recedes.

From birth to death, if either can truly be called such for these creatures, not quite living as other creatures live, they can never escape the cold.

That doesn't mean they don't try.

They are drawn to life like insects to a flame, and like a flame the heat that it emits.

Any life will do, any creature of this world that walks in life emits that precious light, but none more so than humans. None so bright, so warm.

For a dementor lucky enough to come close to those burning beautiful creatures it was like a traveller lost in a snowstorm, reaching out towards a campfire in the night, gleaning what little heat it could offer to chase the ice away if even for a moment.

It was a precious moments respite from the endless cold.

The dementor hovered near the edge of the forest, face turned towards the castle in the distance, too far away to feel anything but its usual bitter frost but close enough to see the glow, this ancient place of slate and stone ablaze with the life that swarmed within.

The dementor did not dare move closer.

They had been ordered to stay back. To scour the forest for the lost prisoner who had broken free and nothing more.

The dementor longed for the prison. For the beings trapped within, their former heat now diminished, a flickering candle beside the infernos they had once been, but even that had been a gift to its kind. A rare taste of warmth for a creature forever denied it.

Here, alone in the forest the ice burned colder than ever.

It was tempting to defy the orders. To fly forward into that place of warmth and life so close by, the bright joy of these children more vibrant than anything it had ever experienced from the prisoners, but the dementor knew it wasn't worth it. Knew the orders to stay back would be upheld by force if necessary.

That punishment for disobedience would come in the form of the too bright light, the one that burned and scorched and blinded them.

The warmth they craved, but too much, far too much, so much it hurt.

It was not worth defying the orders.

The thestrals did not shy away from their kind. These skeletal creatures, forever bound to death. They did not emit heat as other creatures did yet nor did they crave it as the dementors were cursed to, instead they appeared content and at ease with their state.

The herd moved closer to the dementor's guard post along the edge of the trees, unbothered by the unnatural frost that lay upon the ground or the chill in the air as they grazed quietly.

It was the thestrals that stirred first, their gaze lifting towards the castle, alerted to movement across the grounds.

A creature, bright and burning, separated from the many who remained safe within their fortress, and heading toward them.

The dementor knew it was not the prisoner. Far too strong, too bright to be anything that had come from that place.

It did not bother to move, either in retreat or to draw closer, though it was tempted by both.

The child, for it was clearly a child, would soon feel the chill of its presence, just as it would feel the blessed warmth of hers and then she would turn and flee back to the safety of the castle.

She did not turn.

The dementor watched in curiosity as the girl pressed forward. Clearly aware of its presence as she drew her cloak closer, as the air before her face billowed with frost, just as the dementors every breath had done since it entered this world.

It saw the light of her soul diminish even as it felt the prickle of warmth brush its skin.

It watched her approach the heard, who now were gathering closer in anticipation, clearly familiar with the child who had come here to greet them; watched her draw from the bag at her side some cuts of meat, food for these lonely creatures, unseen to most.

Moments passed as both dementor and girl watched the winged equines feast before the child turned her gaze to it.

Though the dementors presence had drawn away the warmth inside her, laying bare a deep-rooted pain she carried within, that same pain that allowed her to see the thestrals in their true visage, she did not seem afraid.

There was acceptance of the sorrow their proximity ensured but no clear desire in her to flee from it.

"I can almost hear her voice" The child whispered, to it or to herself the dementor was not sure "It hasn't been this clear in years"

Her gaze was unafraid as she moved closer still. Face upturned to look upon its own, hand outstretched.

The dementor did not know how to react.

To be close to a human was to bathe in the warmth and glow of life.

Since these icy wraiths had first taken form upon this Earth they had sought that light. That heat.

In turn the humans had run from them, fleeing the cold, hoarding the heat within them that the dementors sought to steal.

There by the edge of a dark forest in the dead of night, as the thestrals feasted contentedly beside them, the dementor felt the soft touch of fingers to its own, the warmth of skin encasing its hand and for a moment chasing back the ever-familiar bite of frost. It breathed deeply, warm summer night air filling its lungs soft and soothing in a single breath that made its head swim.

Unlike the prickling heat of stolen joy that all dementors sought to grasp whenever possible, this moment instead brought an all-encompassing warmth never known before, like a blanket being draped across its shoulders to block out the chill.

The gentle embrace of affection freely given from human to dementor for what may be the first time in history and for one precious moment a lone dementor knew what it was like to be free of the cold.


End file.
